


Spiral

by The_Unnatural_Disaster (havent_got_a_clue)



Category: The Tudors
Genre: Control, Desk Sex, F/M, Fingerfucking, Het, Oral Sex, historical porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havent_got_a_clue/pseuds/The_Unnatural_Disaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He only asks so much of her because the king asks so much of him. </p>
<p>Does Cromwell have a serving girl? Who cares? It's James Frain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spiral

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the first unofficial "Frain-off," or, a slew of writers writing fic using only characters James Frain has portrayed. It was totally a hardship to envision all kinds of things we could do with James Frain, I tell ya.

He calls for her, crossly. The King has been at his games all day and Cromwell found himself yet again in his submission and he requires a meal and some drink and perhaps some sport to get his mind to other things.

She dutifully answers his call with a tray of meat and a goblet of wine, bowing her head as she enters, customarily avoiding his gaze.

"Girl." He can hear her soft breath catch over the crackling fire. "What is it? Jane? It's Jane, correct?"

She blushes and nods slightly, still forcing herself to look to the floor.

"Come here, Jane. I don't want my supper cold." She steps lightly to his table and places the tray in front of him and moves to retreat with a curtsy, but Cromwell catches her wrist in his hand and he stares for a moment, fascinated by the tiny bones that could crack under but two fingers' worth of force. She stops breathing as he feels her pulse quicken and she's trembling but she's trying not to and he finds that she has broken the rule of formality and is staring down at him with eyes that dare him to continue.

He lets go, but not because she wants him to, and smiles. "The King seems to believe my actions absolve him of responsibility for his." It's not light conversation.

"He feels that I am here to disguise his wrongdoings and take blame for them when I cannot do so."

He sips his wine, swirling it around his tongue.

"He feels that I am his to use as he pleases. Jane, tell me, how would you feel if this were you?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but stops.

"I asked you a question. You have permission to speak."

Breathing out, she appears to gather her thoughts as if they were floating like butterflies on the breeze in a thousand different directions. "I would--I would ask what the ben--benefit to me was. Does it g-give you status? Or gold? Property?"

"What appeals to you, Jane? What benefit do you receive bringing me my supper every night? You have no property or gold or status. You have room and food, yes, but is that enough to demand more out of you?"

She looks perplexed. "I-I don't understand, sir. Mine is not a job worth receiving of any of those things and you have the authority to demand more or less of me as you please."

He stands and rounds the table to face her. "Jane, unlike our King, I desire your happiness in your work. An unhappy serving girl makes for an unhappy household and that I cannot abide. I desire more from you, but I wish to give you more in return."

"Such as--?" And it's barely above a whisper, fitting as he has brought his face so close to hers that he can feel the puff of air as she speaks.

He releases her again, teasing his intentions and knowing that status and her curiosity will force her to stay where he has put her.

He picks up his goblet again and slowly raises it to his lips. "I have much work in the evenings this fortnight. His Highness requested three copies of a letter to be delivered to Rome. I must draft this letter in such a manner as to not incite further tensions. This will surely have me writing into the night. I shall require a girl to bring me extra wine well into the night hours. What if I ask you to be this girl?"

She looks vexed at the innocent request after the intense fanfare.

"It would be my honour, sir." She curtsies to leave, but Cromwell is not ready to dismiss her.

Still holding the goblet, he pulls her round to him this time, closer to the firelight. He dips a finger into the red liquid and swirls it around. "That is not all, Jane. The King's demands on Rome will incite tensions no matter how I draft this letter. It puts me into a terrible disposition to write all night and then see where I have not made the King's intentions clear without insulting Rome and I have to start all over again. I shall require a release of my own personal tensions to have the ability to release England's. What if I asked to drink the wine off you?"

He lifts his finger out of the cup and traces a path from her neck to the line of her cleavage, leaving a sweet red trail of wine that he bends to wipe away with his tongue.

He feels her chest heave and the gooseflesh rise on her skin. He looks up to see her eyes tightly shut.

"What say you, Jane?" He keeps his voice low and dark; he needs her to know how much he needs this. 

Her fingers squeeze into fists at her sides, begging to be bold, but propriety wins out and she still belongs to him. He licks an errant drop that has fallen between her breasts and she stumbles at the sensation.

"You want to touch me, Jane?" He wants to torture her, tease her, and make her beg for it. He wants her to fall willingly against his table so he can fuck her over it, her dress lifted so he can watch as he caresses the curve of her arse, holding his prick in the other hand as he guides it into her.

"Y-yes, sir. Please." He smiles and possesses her tiny hands and works the fingers loose. She responds by running those fingers through his hair and down to his shoulders. She makes the smallest noise of arousal, barely audible over the crackle of the fire. He stands before her and greedily takes her mouth to his, wildly touching any flesh he can in the tight embrace. He kisses her neck, biting the skin, marking it with what will be deep purple against the English white. She is arching into it, responding in ways he had hoped and giving him permission to take it further.

He pushes his clothing-bound prick against her to show what she is doing to him. She hesitates for only a moment before she's eagerly claiming it in her hands, frustrated at the layers between her skin and his hardness. He laughs softly and helps her, laying himself bare below the waist.

His carnal desires carry a death penalty in certain areas, so he does not dare risk asking, but Jane, it seems, has been consorting with the more Gallic ladies-in-waiting and is quite willing to indulge his unspoken desire. There is an air of terrified arousal to her as she situates upon the stone floor and takes his member into her mouth. She looks up to him seeking approval and he fears she will make short work of it with those wide eyes.

He cups her head with his hands to hold her there and she moves, finally, swirling her tongue over him, tasting the new flavours and feeling every vein and measure of velvet skin. He bites back a moan, but she brings a hand to assist and rips the moan out of him by force. She experiments with all parts of her luscious mouth to see what brings the most noise, the hardest grasp of his hand, the most hitched swear. 

She's taking as much of him in as she can in that tiny mouth and the sight of it will make him climax if he does not stop her. She's still looking up at him and moving faster to bring him to it, like she knows it is close.

He pulls her off with great force and stands her on shaking limbs. He turns her to his table and forces her down over it. He roughly pushes her skirt up over her waist and pushes fingers down to her cunt and he can't breathe when he feels the wetness between her thighs. She arches up, wanting more, wanting them inside her, but she is so prepared for him that he grabs at her hips and pushes himself deep inside her with one long slide and it is good and damning and he'd risk hell for the feeling.

She grips the edge of the table like she'll fall if she does not and he thrusts again, slower so he can observe himself burying it into her. He wants to last until dawn but he still has enough wits about him to know better.

He continues thrusting into her, caressing her breasts in his hands, fondling the peaks of her nipples until he cannot hear her breathe and her cunt tightens around him exquisitely. He pulls her back as she cries and he can feel the warm rush of fluid around him and it encourages him to continue at his own pace, using the new wetness to go deeper. She is still contracting, wringing his climax from him in a few short moments. He spills into her with a shout and he slows to a still, controlling his breath as best he can, licking the sweat of her back and continuing to massage her breasts as they come down.

He pulls out after a moment and pulls her into a kiss. She is stained rose and purple and their fluids mix on her lower limbs and he'd fuck her again if he had the strength.

He cups her chin and tilts her head up. "Some days, Jane, instead of wine, I might require a late meal. It's decidedly more work to prepare than wine. The payment for that kind of effort will be an even greater reward. Are you willing to take on this work?"

Jane's eyes widen with the thought. She nods, trembling. "Very good, Jane. You may retire for the evening. But stay alert. I can feel the pangs of hunger starting again."


End file.
